


Ooer

by pickaxetothebrain



Category: Filthy Rich & Catflap (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Eddie Catflap, Drunkenness, Hangover, I'm projecting so hard I could work at a cinema, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Eddie Catflap, Transphobia, Vomiting, eddie has PTSD, meltdowns, references to other rik and ade shows, violence in later chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickaxetothebrain/pseuds/pickaxetothebrain
Summary: Richie finds out that Eddie's trans. That doesn't go well.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Ooer

Eddie felt sick. Not "lager on the bed" sick, he felt "I might puke out my stomach" sick. Richie saw him naked. Front facing. Trying to get changed for once. The one time he bothered, he was seen naked by Richie Rich - the wannabe actor now standing there as shock and horror poured into both of their faces. Richie screamed and slammed the door, bolting off and leaving his minder alone. Eddie rushed to change clothes before his anxiety-ridden trembles got too bad. 

Shaking now, Eddie pressed against a wall and slid into a seated position. There he rocked back and forth and cried silently - the only way he could cry. He was left unable to make noise while weeping after several scarring events. Making noise was highly punishable as a child. 

After a long cry, Eddie felt an intense urge to leave. He felt that Richie would try to hurt him.

__________

A raggedy duffel bag was stuffed full of all the cheap lager it could take. Eddie, duffel bag strapped across his body, took off without a word to either Richie nor Filthy. He ran as fast as he could and as far as his legs took him. In fact, it eventually got to the point where Eddie had no clue where in the hell he was. It distressed him. 

Eddie set his bag down under a bridge. He then ripped open his bag with a ravenous sense of need, then grabbed a can of lager and drank from it like he's been thirsty for days. Alcohol was Eddie's best friend. He never had to remember when he was blackout drunk. His only concern was hangovers. Hangovers, hangovers, and more hangovers. No memories of being beaten senseless. No recollection of being forced to steal because no one suspects kids. No remembering having assigned genders shoved down his throat. Nothing, nothing but ignorant bliss and numbness. 

For a while, he was happy. He was alone and away from harm, therefore letting Eddie flap his hands and repeat "Ooer!" over and over. His drunken bliss left him in a state of splendor until suddenly, he crashed. After lager number eight, he was out like a light. Eddie awoke the next morning hungover like always. Now he felt "lager in the bed" sick. 

It dawned on Eddie that he was alone because he wasn't home. He didn't know where he was. He wanted home, or at least the ability to go home. He immediately internalised the distress and slammed his fists against his temples, rocking back and forth like he did before he left. Once again, he was curled up and crying, but only now was he puking from a hangover.

Now everything ached. His head pounded. His brain made him feel indescribably horrid. His stomach churned violently, feeding his infinite malaise. His legs hurt from running. 

And like that, Eddie was trying to reach for another can. 

___________

Days were a long forgotten concept. It was all the same. Pass out, drink, break down, drink, vomit, drink. Eddie had claimed the land under the bridge as his own in a drunken fit, not that anyone was there to care. No one was ever there for Eddie Catflap. He worked a shit job and lived a shit life. That was it. There was nothing else, especially not now. 

At least he couldn't be called a woman when he was only accompanied by booze. 


	2. Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph has a chat with Richie. Eddie is on the run.

"Daughter, can you please tell me why Eddie's run off with all the lager?"

Ralph Filthy was standing at the doorway of Richie's bedroom, leaning against the frame by his elbow. Strangely, he looked concerned as he spoke. Richie sat on his bed in what seemed to be a fit of self-victimisation; because of course Richie Rich was going to pretend that he'd been assaulted by a violation of privacy _he_ conducted. The wannabe celebrity only let out an overdramatic whine. 

"Richie," Ralph called, now sounding stern. "What. Happened?"

"Oh, Filthy!" Richie shouted as he pounded his fists upon the bed. "That _THING_ we call Eddie stood naked in front of me!"

The taller man let out a groan that seemed to be a primeval "oh shit". He stepped closer to the bed and asked, "You walked in on him, didn't you?"

"Ugh, yes, bu-"

"Richie."

"Filthy. I'm glad Eddie's gone, because he- sh-"

Ralph was now furious, an uncommon emotion for him to express. " _Don't you **dare**_ finish that word, boy!"

"Why not?!"

"You don't understand a single thing about this, and you're making it all about you anyway! I thought you'd show some decency, even just the most basic gesture of seeing Eddie for the man he is, but it seems that you can't even grasp respect! You can't grasp reality, you can't grasp respect - **_man up, Richie Rich!_** " 

Richie was staring at Ralph in horror during the rant. He was used to Eddie screaming at him, not his agent. It was at this point when the actor tried to wriggle out of the situation. Batting his best doll eyes, he started, "Now, Filthy, come on! I mean, come on! Why would you of all people care?"

"I'm paying for him! He can't work a proper fucking job, that's why he babysits you! I pay him so he can stay on his medication and pay off his breast removal!"

" _YOU_ support this- this-"

"Don't try to call him an abomination or what-bloody-ever. When you're mature enough, you're going to find him and apologise." Ralph sounded cold before he walked out and closed the door, leaving Richie with his thoughts. 

___________

In the meantime, Eddie was still occupying the relatively abandoned bridge. He didn't know the day, or how long he'd been in the same spot, or anything. He was hungry. Somehow, he was tired. He was desperate. He wanted to go home. Eddie had been rocking back and forth while humming the same note for hours, but he didn't know that. Time was always hard for him to grasp. 

Suddenly, it hit him - he should try to go home! That was not a bad idea that could ever backfire. Definitely. 

____________

Two hours into Eddie Catflap's voyage, and the minder had wound up having a panic attack in an alleyway. He was silently crying, all of his emotion flooding out in small tears as the anxiety showed no sign on stopping. His body ached from hunger and anxiety. Eddie felt purely helpless once again. 

He got blackout drunk when he could move. On second thought, maybe not knowing what was going on was better (spoiler alert: it wasn't). Maybe he felt like shit. Maybe he didn't care about that. 


	3. Where are We Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a good thinking session, Eddie gets depressed.

Richie had never questioned anything before. The world seemed easy to understand for him - boy, girl, boy and girl fall in love, the list goes on. Eddie had inadvertently made Richie start to question everything he knew about gender. Now he felt like he had a shallow understanding of his world. Now he felt dumber than he thought Eddie was. 

He'd only been given offhand comments and nonchalant insults by Filthy. It was nothing like his last conversation; deep, scathing criticism of Richie's very character. It scared him. It seemed that, for the first time, Richie felt wrong about what he had done. That scared Richie more than consequence itself did. The actor had never processed being wrong before. He was right, always right. He had to be. Being the self-assured celebrity would allow him to live in his own bubble, the ideal world where everyone bowed to him without hesitation. 

The illusion he lived dancing amongst did no good for him. Instead of fixing himself, instead of learning, he decided automatically that it was their problem if someone didn't like him for the stuck-up right-wing twat he was. Richie was surrounded by those who merely put up with him. He'd never had a true friend, nor a true lover. It was a grave he dug to protect himself from gazing upon himself. It was a distraction from the ever growing void of loneliness gorging on Richie's being. 

He was a bastard. A complete bastard, he let himself become such. 

Richie, now disillusioned as those around him, quickly grew to feel the ravenous ache of loneliness in his chest. It brought him no stress physically - he was just now awakened to the secrets his own mind kept him from. 

_Why_ , he wondered, _why me? Why do I feel this over him?!_

It was simple. Richie lost the one thing he had that was close to a friend. The only person willing to be around him was Eddie fucking Catflap and he blew it. The actor had cast away his only social hope just because he refused to understand in the heat of the moment. Now it was time to reap what he'd sown. 

_____________

"Filthy."

Ralph didn't even look at Richie. 

" **Filthy.** "

Ralph seemed to consider it, but decided against looking at Richie. 

"Filthy, I've come to apologise."

"I'm not who you need to apologise to, Richie. You need to apologise to Eddie," replied the agent coldly, still saying nothing. 

"Listen, alright?" Richie put his face into his hands. "Listen...I was wrong and I don't know how to handle this, I don't know enough about Eddie, but you do. So tell me. Tell me and I'll look for him."

Ralph sighed deeply in preparation. "...Alright. Sit down, daughter."

Richie slowly took a seat as Filthy explained, "Some people aren't born the way everyone expected them to. Eddie was considered a girl when he was born, but it turns out he's a boy. So, he's taking testosterone and paying off his mastectomy bill at the moment. Taking hormones and having surgery done makes him feel more comfortable. It's not anything like a choice or a disease, Richie. It's who he is."

"...Oh. I suppose... I suppose that makes sense. Um...how do I...how do I say sorry?" Richie replied with hesitant openness.

"Find him, tell him you're sorry, and get him back home."

That was it. Richie ran out in frantic search of Eddie. He could've been anywhere! The pubs showed no signs of Eddie, nor did any liquor stores. He checked every street, alley, and dumpster for his minder to no avail. Then he saw a figure on top of a building wearing Eddie's clothes. Richie felt sickening fear overwhelm him before everything went hazy. 

_____________

In the meantime, Eddie was having anything but a moment of growth. He'd had countless panic attacks and meltdowns after he drank all the lager. He was rendered unable to avoid his ailments now, thus getting countless flashbacks and once again being severely disturbed by the sensory input around him. 

God, it was so bloody unbearable. 

He didn't want to remember anything in his life. It was all shit. He never amounted to anything, and he figured he never would - especially since he'd just ran away from the only job he was able to do. That was, if being a minder for a has-been-if-he-ever-was was a proper job. He was stuck in a world that didn't understand him and wouldn't take the time to. He started to think death might be better than whatever living hell he was forced into. That was it. He was done. Thirty years on the planet were wasted on fear, poverty, and booze. The first eighteen were spent trying not to get beaten black and blue, burnt, cut, or so deeply insulted he could feel what little left of his closely guarded heart shattering with every word. Then he spent the next twelve even drunker than he got when he started drinking at 12, constantly stealing for his own habits now rather than his parents' and winding up homeless every month. No more. 

Eddie climbed up to the roof of a building. He took a deep breath in and gazed upon what he thought would be his last sight. It was a dreary, foggy day. Funny how it felt like he was about to die surrounded by weather not unlike his mental state. 

"Well..." Eddie sighed. "Here goes nothing."

Just as he tried to leap, the minder was quickly grabbed from behind and dragged back onto the roof. When he stared up at who grabbed him, he saw Richie. Richard. Fucking. Rich. 

Eddie's blood boiled. 


	4. Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...Eddie's not ok. This is the violence chapter.

"You!" A potent poison of lager and rage seeped through Eddie's voice. He was furious to see Richie. He rose up from the ground slowly, taking a moment for balance, then punched the actor square in the nose. As Richie started staggering backwards while holding his nose in pain, his minder gave him a firm push to the ground using a kick to the groin.

It was from then that Eddie began the overkill. His drunken rage sullied with 30 years of pain proved potent as his single-worded poison arrow. Eddie screamed and threw himself onto Richie, then started to punch his face until it was painted a sanguine shade of crimson. He ignored all cries for help, all sobs, and all begs to stop. Eddie's conscience slipped with every punch. In his place was the very personification of anguish. 

Eddie did not speak. All that came from his throat were gutteral roars and growls. He hated Richie. Hated, hated, hated. The hate intoxicated him. It made him feel sick. Not "lager on the bed" sick, but "ready to kill" sick. He'd show Richie. He'd show Richie that no one could mess with Eddie Catflap anymore. His days of being controlled were over. He was done. 

Richie had bled enough for the thick stench of iron to waft through the air. Eddie's fists were bleeding, his own blood mixing with Richie's. That stung, but Eddie couldn't stop attacking. 

The next order of business with Eddie's instinct was to scratch at Richie. This eventually brought upon its own bloodbath. The smell of blood grew stronger and stronger with each clawing motion, until it started to give Eddie an alternative illness. Now he was "lager on the bed" sick. 

Eddie leaped off of Richie and sank to his knees a safe few feet away, gagging and retching until he was violently expelling a flood lager and unexplainable bits all over the floor. 

Richie took this time to rise to his feet. His tears stung the scratches on his face. As Eddie continued to dump his guts out, Richie slowly approached him. He didn't understand why he was beat just then - he _saved_ Eddie! He was supposed to do that! Gently, the actor called, "Erm- Eddie... Eddie, I don't- I don't think I understand. I saved your life, aren't you happy?"

Eddie only looked up with the ice blue eyes of a starved stray animal - weak, but aggressive. No words came out of his open-hanging mouth, just drops of vomit. 

"Eddie... Eddie, this isn't you, is it? Eddie?"

The minder's breath hitched, then he puked all over Richie's shoes. As Richie started to mourn his shoes, Eddie started to shake. Everything was catching up to him now. The same anxiety tearing him apart the whole time he was gone had crept back into his mind. Eddie sat back with tears welling in his eyes, then hugged himself. Silently he cried. He was so silent that Richie didn't notice.

"Eddie! My shoes! You didn't have to vomit on them!" Richie huffed. His ignorance stopped when he saw Eddie's face. "Oh my god, Eddie... Are you crying?"

Eddie wasn't ashamed of much, but he was ashamed of this. Showing emotion? Bad. Wrong. Especially if he looked weak. 

Richie took no advantage, nor revenge, on Eddie. Instead he knelt down in sympathy - the first sympathy of his life. Richie slowly hugged his minder. Eddie sort of froze for a bit and emitted a confused sound. This perplexed him. Why was Richie holding him?

"Eddie..." whispered Richie, starting to rock Eddie gently. "It's okay. I admit I've made a mistake and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't understand. I'm sorry I walked in on you. I looked for you because I want to fix this, alright?"

Eddie shook intensely before he grabbed Richie intensely. He sobbed into the other man's shoulder. 

"It's ok, Eddie. You're safe, ok? I'm... I'm a changed man. I'll do better, ok? Filthy explained everything to me. You're a man. I see that."

God, it was like everything Eddie needed to hear over his life flooded in at the age of thirty. And it was through Richie's voice that he heard it. 

"Do you want to go home, Eddie?"

"...Yes."

_____________

It had been about ten minutes following the prior events and the two were now walking home. Richie had wiped his face on his coat, so now he was carrying it folded over his arm. Eddie had his arm over Richie for balance. 

Suddenly, Richie spoke. "...Eddie. It's a nice name. Why did you pick it?"

Eddie stayed silent for a moment to compose himself. In fact, his name was actually rather sentimental. He had both joy and regret pooling in his heart when he thought of his namesake. "...It was my uncle's name."

"Why was he special?"

The minder wiped his nose and swallowed a thick glob of mucus, then replied, "He believed me. He cared about me. No one else did, not until Filthy. My family's shit, Richie. I feel awful for the other trans man in the family."

Richie paused to take that fact in. Eddie continued right as Richie was about to open his mouth. "I let him down. Uncle Eddie didn't want me to go down the line he did. I started drinking when I was twelve so I could escape fear. Now I just drink to forget that I keep letting everyone down."

"You didn't let Filthy down, did you?"

"...No."

"You didn't let me down either."

"How? I literally just did all that."

"Well...it didn't let me down. You did beat me bloody, so you just proved that you're fit to be my minder."

"I think that's a bad explanation, Richie."

"Well it's the explanation you're getting, so take it, ok?"

"...Ok."

"Tell me about your uncle."

"Why?"

"I want to know about him."

Well, that was a surprise for Eddie! Richie...asking about someone else's life? Wow, he missed out on some major character development. Nonetheless, Eddie replied after a moment, "He was a family outcast because he had no kids but babysat at the reunions. There were rumours that he had a trans boyfriend going around. Not even his sisters liked him. They all had kids. I think my mum was the worst sister, even if that bitch who mothered little Vyvyan was awful too."

"Vyvyan?"

"My youngest cousin. He was a ball of energy and he wanted to be a doctor. I hope Uncle Eddie could help him."

"...Poor kid. None of you deserved the family you got."

"I miss Eddie. I miss the hugs he gave me. He was the only one who gave hugs. I also missed when he read to me. I...I just-" Just like that, Eddie was in tears again. 

"Eddie!" Richie gasped. "Eddie, it'll be alright, okay? It's ok, it's ok..."

_____________

Richie and Eddie stumbled through the front door. Eddie wordlessly bolted to his bedroom, screeching with happiness and closing the door behind him with a gratuitous slam. He was home now. He felt safe now. Eddie threw himself into his lager-free bed and buried himself in the sheets. He was happy as he was tired and desperate for a mattress. 

Though he'd been alone for a while, Eddie felt the need to be alone again. Just...this time in a space he felt safe in. A familiar place. A fucking bed instead of a slab of concrete covered in his own puke. 

Strangely, it was home. His true home. 


End file.
